


You Don’t Need to Buy Another Candle with Jesus on the Glass. We Already Have Seven.

by valzilla



Category: South Park
Genre: Gen, and any other latino whos had these experiences, and since no one else will ever write this looks like ill have to, the five other people who love david, this is literally something i wrote for myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-07 16:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valzilla/pseuds/valzilla
Summary: a little series of one shots, if they can be called that, looking into David and his role in South Park as the only really prominent Latino character in recent seasons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> some of these chapters will be short and some will be long but really this is just meant to express my love of David, my culture and personal experiences as a latina, and to lay out some headcanons that are a little more difficult to write in a normal fanfiction
> 
> i hope you guys like this!

David tugged on the collar of the button up shirt his mother had ironed for him just that morning. He felt weird and stiff wearing dark colored pants with creases down the middle but it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time either.

Looking to his right, his mother was wearing a colorful dress. She wore nice heels and the fabric went down to her knees. Just enough to show off how much tanner her skin had gotten simply from the walk from the car to the inside of the church.

In her hand she held the small cross connected to her gold chain necklace. It was still attached to her neck but she made no sign of unclipping it from the back.

If David looked farther, past his mother and her little murmurs reciting prayer, he could see his father sitting down on the pew with his legs spread and his large arms crossed against his chest.

The fabric of his shirt stretched over his arms as best it could, making the white almost sheer if the sun could hit it just right. Or maybe if the priest got clumsy enough to spill some holy water onto his elbow where the shirt tugged against the creases his arms tried to create.

He looked exhausted from work, even almost bored, but David knew his father wouldn’t dare skip today.

David didn’t get it.

He understood why his mother liked to buy those long candles that had drawings of saints and angels and even Jesus himself on a cross. He understood why his father nailed down a cross over David’s bed frame. He understood why his grandmother when she visited would teach him how to pray in Spanish.

He understood those things.

But he didn’t _get_ it.

He didn’t _get_ why his mother refused to go to the Sunday session at 12 on the dot in the afternoon. Why she became so frustrated when he asked that if she could speak English then why they still had to go to the Spanish session at 5 when no one else except the Lopez family was there. Why he couldn’t just promise to stick to the classes held in the church’s basement if it meant at least being able to be with his friends.

He didn’t get it.

So, just like every other week, David sat there in the pew second from the front on the left hand side while the Lopez family sat in the back corner on the right hand side so that Mrs. Lopez could leave if she was called from her work and her daughter could play hookie if she wanted to.

But before he could ask his mother one final time to leave and hang out with his friends instead of listen to a man he didn’t bother speaking to outside of the church read in a heavy accent a translated version of their daily sermon, Father Maxi was already walking onto the stage and to the center.

There, he greeted them as best he could, raising his hands so that the five other visitors in the church could imitate him.

As David sat down and listen as best he could to jumbled up accents, he could hear the echo of Mrs. Lopez opening the door to leave. Her phone vibrated violently in her hand and was the only excuse she had. 

Her daughter left only a few seconds later, leaving David, his mother, and his father alone in the church meant to hold 200 visitors.

Now it only held three.


	2. Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point im not too sure what my future topics will be but im having fun writing these chapters shdjsjdjs also thanks for the sweet support so far it means a lot

Opening up the glass tupperware with the yellow stained plastic lid he pulled out of a brown paper bag, David suddenly felt eyes on him at the overwhelming scents of herbs and spices.

He wanted to keep his head down and just eat in peace, but no, his mother packed him last night’s left overs and now he swore the entire table was watching him with something his ten year old mind could only chalk up to disgust.

He was gone.

This was it.

Any semblance of normalcy he oh so craved to maintain every day at school suddenly no longer existed.

All because his mother made pozole and the mere sight of a deep red broth with slices of lime, chickpeas, and pork swimming in it was enough to get his friends scooching away from him.

Grabbing the metal spoon his mother packed (metal, of all things), David couldn’t even will himself to heat the microwave safe casing to actually eat his lunch decently warm. Because that would mean having to get up and walk past not only multiple tables, but also wait in line to actually get to heat up the damn thing and make the smell not only stronger but make the microwave smell like his parent’s restaurant too.

“Hey,” Kyle said tentatively.

Jesus christ, here it was.

“That smells…” He leaned in close, “Really good. What is it?”

Clyde, from across the table nodded as he hastily swallowed his too large of a bite of cheese pizza. “Yeah, what is that, dude?”

“Um…” David bit back his tongue and gave as much of an american accent as he could manage. “ _Pozole_. Like… a soup my mom makes…”

Stan peered over Kyle’s shoulder before looking down at his own meal: a snack pack that was as cold as David’s. But his came with two cookies. “I’ll trade you.”

“Wh… What?” 

“Yeah, dude.” He motioned to the unopened back of crackers, cheese, and ham. “I’ll, like, trade you.”

“You want this?”

“It’s better than mi—“ Stan cut himself off before he could ruin the potential trade.

“No way,” Token finally spoke. “I’ll trade you for my california roll.”

“No fair, dude!” Clyde whined, “You can’t offer him something like that! I can’t even trade what I got!” He’d finishd eating his lunch, after all.

Eric grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I think it smells like shit.”

But before David could even think about caring about what Eric said, despite knowing that his words were worth as much as garbage, Kyle was already yelling back a storm. 

“Fuck off, Cartman! Your mom packed you a twinkie and a bag of chips for lunch!” Huffing, he turned back to David and gave a shy smile. “I’ll trade you kugel for pozole.” His pronunciation was terrible, but David knew he was trying his best.

“No way,” David laughed, “I’m way to hungry to trade.” He handed the spoon over to Kyle, though. “But you can try it if you want.”


End file.
